A Different Flodden
by dreamfandomist
Summary: A single shot tale about the retired life of Charles and Elsie. About how they get into disagreements and of course get back in agreement as always. And of course the famous Scottish temper!


Charles heard an almighty crash of steel striking steel from the kitchen. Instead of running out to the kitchen like the loving husband in the films that were recently being very popular, and of course forced down his throat because of his wife's joy in relishing in the images of sweet scenes flying across the screen, he chuckled to himself. Elsie was trying to master her cooking skills under the tutorage of the eager Beryl Patmore whose eagerness seemed to be weathering away under the snail pace of progress from her new pupil. This resulted in several failed attempts by Elsie at home who never wanted to give up, since she was retired now and had all the time in the world. By now Elsie managed to make a simple meal but fancy baking was beyond her. Charles knew better than to interrupt Elsie once she had been defeated in battle in the kitchen, or else all the Scottish fire would be unleashed upon him and he knew that _this_ battle of Flodden, in the Carson cottage at Downton, could never be won by the English.

He felt some guilt deep within though. He was one reason for all the unbridled frustration in the kitchen at the moment, radiating or rather storming out of Elsie. He was the one who had pressed her on his impeccable standards. He felt so ashamed of his words some months before. _Cold plates! Are these done enough?_ These words played across his mind as he scolded himself severely in his mind. If he had been considerate all those times, he wouldn't be so ashamed on this day. He rebuked himself for the many times he had commented that Mrs Patmore's cooking was much better and had also insulted Elsie involuntarily saying that "she had catching up to do." He never took a moment to consider Elsie's situation. What life was having spent several decades away from a proper home, attending to tasks that constituted all but cooking, he had forgotten. He hated himself for measuring Elsie in Mrs Patmore's standards or his mother's. The first was a woman who made cooking her career. The second was a woman who had her life directed to being a wife rather than to earn her keep and also her family's. On the other hand Elsie had devoted her life to running a house and she had not even thought of ever retiring till he proposed to her.

But what was said was said. And what was done was done. He did apologise to her but it didn't stop him from being terribly guilty. But of course he feared facing her in this situation because she would be more enraged. So Charles decided to wait till Elsie emerged from the kitchen and cooled down a bit before he tried to console her. He was about resume immersing in a book of history till he heard sounds similar to sobs from the kitchen mingled with the sounds of running water. He kept his book back on the coffee table beside him and walked towards the kitchen. He stood in the doorway and as his eyes gauged the sight before him, his heart shattered to a million pieces.

Elsie stood by the sink, hands on either side of it, her head bent low in dejection. The pretty apron she sewed by herself was flung on the kitchen counter. And what hurt Charles the most was the fact that she was softly crying. His Elsie was crying. All because she was afraid to let him down.

Never being a man for words, Charles Carson stood in the doorway, one hand on the door frame, thinking of something good to say. _Charles Carson, for heaven's sake tell something! There's your wife broken down to a million pieces because of your silly notions, ones that you never really changed. Always passing unnecessary remarks! Now do something._ He thought to himself.

He walked softly across the stone floor of their kitchen and stood behind her. He looked at her head leaning forward in defeat and cursed himself for the state he had left her in. He knew he was wrong and that he needed to stop but it was just a week ago that he commented with Daisy and Andy that "cooking was not Mrs Carson's forte." He wrapped his arms ever so gently around her waist and gently kissed her shoulder. Instead of the relaxing of his beloved wife that he expected as reaction to his attentions, he felt her body become rigid under his touch and her head shoot up to be straight.

He didn't have the words nor did he make an effort to find any, but decided to make his actions speak for themselves as he kept on kissing her shoulder and gently moved to her neck.

"Charles!" came the unfeeling and rigid response from his wife.

"Elsie?" he asked softly making her name sound like an innocent question, to soothe her, yes, and to find some time to save his head from the cannons that would fire any time soon.

"Please can you leave me alone for a moment? I need it," she replied in a very strong voice.

"I guess you remember that I promised to never leave you alone. In church no less. Well… actually the words were implied but still…" he retaliated.

"Please!" she spoke much louder this time and tried to remove his hands at her waist.

"Elsie…" he still kept holding on, never allowing her fingers to release his grip over her waist. Finally he felt her give up and her body become weak in his arms. He hugged her from behind more tightly.

"I am useless Charles," a whisper came out of her lips.

"Oh you never are…"

"Just look at this cake! It will speak for itself," she spoke a little louder than earlier, yet still worried.

"I don't care about it Elsie," he kissed her neck again.

"Do you not wish you'd have married a woman who could have been a proper wife to you? A wife who can actually cook, rather than push a few vegetables across the pan?" she asked dejectedly.

"Well if I wanted a wife who could cook I could have proposed to Mrs Patmore. But I proposed to you because I love you," he tried to console her.

"Well… you didn't sound like that when we were at Mr Mason's last week," she said and he felt a sob building in her chest.

"I am ever so sorry Elsie. I promise I will never make any remarks like that," he whispered in a defeated voice.

"Don't you dare apologise Charles Carson! You never stop!" came the reply and Charles knew that Elsie was preparing her armour.

"I promise Elsie…" his voice trailed off as he resumed to kiss her shoulder. Elsie's voice broke into a huge sob. She removed his hands from her waist after much effort and stormed out of the kitchen leaving a well and truly defeated former Butler behind.

After a few minutes Charles walked into the sitting room expecting to see Elsie seated on the chair by the window, her usual fortress when she was angry with him but the seat was empty and the golden light of the midday sun danced across the flowery cushion. To Charles, even his sight looked so sorrowful. He mentally kicked himself for the episode he created last week at Mr Mason's, till everyone was laughing. He had only meant it to be a joke, after all they were all their friends, but it had hurt her pride much more than he could imagine. Suddenly he remembered her face that afternoon. There was sorrow, anger, disappointment and humiliation all painted into a single picture as she sat silently and solemnly while everyone else was laughing about the "charcoal flavoured scones" that Charles described so vividly as a speciality of Elsie that she brought over from Scotland. Only now, a week later that he realised the severity of his statement. And all the comments that followed the initial joke! He couldn't bear the fact that they had made her so upset.

He remembered the time when he was afraid to admit that he was ill, that he had "palsy" and that he was not fit to work anymore. Her words rang in his head.

" _I am your wife. I love you. Your secrets are safe with me."_

He was ashamed to admit his condition even to her and when he finally did, he remembered how many moments they spent alone without uttering a word, Elsie softly stroking his hand and comforting him. A few tears slowly trailed down his cheeks as the many faces of Elsie during each if these times flashed across his eyes.

He walked upstairs and gently opened the door of their bedroom. There she was, curled up in bed. The open window blowing in a gentle, afternoon breeze which was ruffling pretty curtains and playing across her blouse. Charles looked at the sight in front of him, heartbroken. His Elsie was not the type to be defeated. She would put up a fight, teeth and claws. But here she was. Dejected. Broken. He wanted to comfort her. Tell her that he would change. But he was too ashamed. Too scared. But he couldn't watch the Scottish fire that he loved so deeply die down to a spark that could never light the darkness. A spark that could easily die away back to darkness.

He took gentle steps up to the bed and sat down. She registered his presence for he watched her go rigid, as if the breeze from the window was not of a summer afternoon but a winter night. As if the cold seeped through his breath and hit her soul.

The best stance, he felt of course, was to fall on his own sword. And unlike the other times he meant it this time. With all of his heart. Several times he thought he had changed, when this delicate matter was concerned but several times over he repeated the same mistake thoughtlessly. It was not him, wanting to be inconsiderate about his beloved wife. It was also him, expecting high standards when they really didn't matter. It was a war between two sides to itself. Two sides of a man experimenting on how to live life than to exist. Two sides of a single man in constant conflict. But both sides cannot win a war. There has to be a loser. It is then that he would live, that he could love.

"Elsie I know I am a totally inconsiderate husband sometimes. Yes, I know I complain about everything and as you say I am a curmudgeon. But you see… it is just that… oh… I don't know… I mean," he stumbled on his words, his initial confidence failing him. He was good with words in a formal conversation. Picking on the right word by assessing the complexity of the conversation but when it came to matters of the heart he was utterly useless. Many a homesick footman would go to Elsie with tears than to him, even though they were directly under his jurisdiction. But this was different. Much different. For his Elsie who comforted everyone needed comfort and he began to wonder if he was making any progress.

As if reading his mind, she shifted and face him, still curled up in bed though. She watched her eyes filled with tears. Eyes that rarely knew tears and always knew the glow of fire and spark. Charles was comfortable with the blue eyed Scottish Dragon in Elsie trying to tear him to pieces than this look that was etched on her eyes, a look of hurt, a look of dejectedness.

For a moment he was lost in her eyes. She didn't stop him, nor encourage him. She was waiting for him. Like she waited for him, for twenty years.

"What I mean is Elsie. I love you," he said as he finally found his confidence again. How could he stay silent for any minute and watch the blue eyes that he loved so deeply and reminded him of the highland skies on a starry night, with filled with tears, and blurred. As if a wicked snow storm was playing about the life drawn across the blue, threatening to dim it forever. A forever that was short lived yet enough to remind one of a dreaded eternity. An infinity one despised but could never escape.

And he said it again, "I love you Elsie. More than I can ever say. I know that you know that I cannot describe it well enough. I make mistakes and might even repeat them. But I never mean to look down on you. Or for the matter hate you. I am a grumpy old bear but I do love you. For everything about you."

A loud sob escaped her and he knew it was one of love than one of disappointment.

"Will you forgive me, my darling? Will you forgive this blundering old man?" he asked with puppy dog eyes. The eyes that could get him in an extra slice of apple tart. The eyes that could get him a playful slap on the chest in the garden and a beautiful kiss at twilight.

"Charles Carson don't you dare think I am not angry with you! Even though you are flashing that look that make me do anything for you!" she said in mock anger trying to swallow down a sob.

"You will forgive me then?" he asked innocently.

"I will have my conditions. Mark my words!" came the amused reply. Charles was quite proud of his progress. His head was still in one piece.

"And they would include?"

"That you do the dishes for a fortnight!" she commanded in full Housekeeper tone, and amused grin playing across her face behind the streams of tears flowing down her cheeks.

"You do know how to play your cards Elsie," Charles replied, happy that he came out alive and of course how easily his wife always won.

"Anything else Milady?" he teased.

"Well, I suppose a show of affection is in order," she replied in a stately voice trying to imitate the regal sound of the Dowager Countess.

"And your selection being a kiss Milady?" he played on.

"Preferably."

"Butler at your service," he replied with a light bow and gather her into his arms. He looked into the deep blue eyes that would flash in front of him, every second of every minute of every hour, when she was away from him. He gently placed a kiss on her forehead. On each of her cheeks and finally reached her lips, which he often told her reminded him of the light pink roses back in their garden and the finest rose wine deep down in the cellar at the Abbey. For many a moment they were lost in the kiss till they both broke apart quite breathless.

"I am quite glad that none of my ancestors ever fought at Flodden," he said as he tried to fill breath into his lungs which were demanding air that he quite happily deprived them of for several minutes.

"Why?" Elsie asked with a questioning glare. Certainly oblivious to the point he was about to make.

"Because if they did they would haunt me forever for letting the Scots win so easily. _Every time!_ " he emphasised with a chuckle. And they both gave into a seemingly endless bout of merry laughter as the sun gently smiled at the happy couple through the window and the wind whispered of their happiness to the trees and flowers that listened with enthusiasm to the tales of a love so pure and beautiful. The likes of which they had never seen before and doubted that would ever again.

 _Notes: The Battle of Flodden was a military combat between the Kingdom of England and the Kingdom of Scotland resulting in an English victory in 1513._


End file.
